


flash your heart

by jelliebean



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Light Angst, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers is the best, Tony Stark Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-01 01:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15132164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelliebean/pseuds/jelliebean
Summary: It wasn’t that Steve was pure exactly.  After all, someone who was pure wouldn’t withhold coffee from Tony—literally holding it over his head—until he ate something nutritious.  Someone who was pure wouldn’t stand possessively nearby when pretty reporters hovered, with a deceptively mild look on his face—a look that somehow told them to back off when they got too close. Someone who was pure wouldn’t kiss Tony, hard, purposefully, while they were both in uniform, wink at him, and then jump out of a plane straight into a battle.  Or tell him, in that low, Captain tone, to wait until they got home.  Or stand in the back of a summer press conference, slowly and calmly eating a pop rocket while Tony tried to concentrate.But Steve was also the best of them.





	flash your heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starkboi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkboi/gifts).



> for starkboi. steve is the little spoon (eventually). also, a quick bonus motorcycle.

When Tony woke up, on the pavement, sky blessedly clear of monstrous flying robot iguanas, the wormhole closed, the arc reactor ached in his chest, carving out space for itself, stealing his breath.

“What happened? Tell me nobody kissed me,” he joked, eyes flying open.  Steve Rogers: beautiful, light behind him, hair falling damply in his face, eyelashes filtering the sunlight.

“We won,” Steve said, smiling wryly, disbelieving—and still, somehow, sad.  He was close enough to touch. 

Tony reached up for him, caught his collar, dragged him down, Steve’s mouth soft, tasting vaguely of ash, Steve smelled of sweat and battle but he kissed him back, sweet, the relief of having won, the joy of a free sky, his tongue slipping between Tony’s lips—if this was the other side of dying, Tony would do it over and over again.  It was like he hadn’t truly understood kissing, chained in some Platonic cave, until he'd kissed Steve and stood outside, breathing the clean air, sun warming his face.

Then Steve stopped, caught himself, the motion of his fingers stilling over Tony’s face as he drew back. Tony could see the guilt there.  “Miss Potts,” Steve said, ashamed. He flushed, the red enticing, drawing beneath the split in his collar.  He looked away.  “I’m sorry.” As if it were Steve who had started it.  As if it had been Steve who was splitting them apart. 

“Right.  Well.  Well done, team,” Tony cheered, glancing around.  “Let’s all call in sick tomorrow.  I have something I need to do.” He could see the glint of Steve’s hair twist as he turned back to Tony, caught the hope in his eye. Maybe Tony hadn’t been sure, until then.  But now he was.  A committed Steve Rogers was unstoppable, immovable. The man had rescued his friend from behind enemy lines, against orders, with a parachute and a shield.  He’d fought against a force he had no hope of defeating, holding the line with his hands and his sheer will. He put down a ship in the Atlantic. He’d be there, when Tony was done.

\--

He apologized.  Steve apologized for being such an ass. He didn’t blame Loki, not exactly, but Loki’s staff certainly did bring out the stubborn in the man.  But, Tony thought, in retrospect, that stubbornness, although it might be a pain—he really was such a mule—was what made him dependable. Made him steadfast. It wasn’t that Steve wouldn’t change.  He would. Tony thought about the way that Steve found the weapons onboard the helicarrier.  Even with Loki’s staff sowing dissension.  He thought about the way that Steve adapted his strategy given what Tony told him about the Chitauri, during the battle. Even just a few days in a new world, a new future, with really nothing left of his past. No better way to get caught up with the times than spending time with a futurist.

Tony thought of how lonely that must make him.  Having no one.  Even Tony had his people, the ones who he knew would be there for him, in the end.  He had Rhodey, and Happy. And Pepper.  Even now.  He didn’t know how Steve could bear it. Sometimes he thought he could see it, in the ridge of his shoulders, in the way he stood tall, somehow taller than he should be, as if bearing up against the weight of invisible burdens, alone.

\--

The first time they finally fell into bed together, Tony realized he’d never get enough.  He’d never get enough of that single-minded focus, the heat of it, crawling down his skin.  Steve crowded him up against the wall, all-consuming, blocking out the noise, the distractions, everything that wasn’t a vast expanse of warm skin.

He was so gentle with Tony.  Sweet.  Generous. And goddamn enthusiastic.  Steve anticipated him, fingers resting gently over the reactor, cleaned it up, wiped him down with a warm cloth. 

“Can I stay?” Steve asked, hushed. 

“Here’s the thing, Cap,” Tony started, “you can stay if you want. But I don’t sleep the night through. And I might wake you up. And I twitch. A lot.  Pep couldn’t stand it.  Also, that one time, one of the armors tried to kill her—not her fault, not at all, so I’m sort of a health hazard. Not that you don’t know about health hazards, especially what with that killer caterpillars we just faced down, but what I’m saying is, you take your life in your hands with me.”

Steve smiled, kissed the corner of his mouth.  “No safer place.” He drew Tony in, arms around him, enclosing him, keeping him, safe and snug.  His thigh rested over Tony’s, anchoring him, his presence warm, always warmer than other people, he kissed Tony’s hair.

Tony slept the night through.

After that, every night was the same, long after Tony told him to stop asking if he could stay, he’d already got his toothbrush in Tony’s cup and most of his clothes were in the dresser anyway. He wrapped Tony up, kissed him.  Tony slept the night through.

\--

It wasn’t that Steve was pure exactly.  After all, someone who was pure wouldn’t withhold coffee from Tony—literally holding it over his head—until he ate something nutritious.  Someone who was pure wouldn’t stand possessively nearby when pretty reporters hovered, with a deceptively mild look on his face—a look that somehow told them to back off when they got too close. Someone who was pure wouldn’t kiss Tony, hard, purposefully, while they were both in uniform, wink at him, and then jump out of a plane straight into a battle.  Or tell him, in that low, Captain tone, to wait until they got home.  Or stand in the back of a summer press conference, slowly and calmly eating a pop rocket while Tony tried to concentrate.

But Steve was also the best of them.  He trained with Nat, wanting to learn from her, since her style was so unlike his own. He cooked with Thor, both learning about the delights of modern American cuisine. He played at target practice with Clint.  Stretched while Bruce did yoga.  And through it all, listened to them unburden themselves.  They all had guilt. They all had red, as Nat put it. He listened to her crimes, when she gave them to him, sparsely, haltingly, moments not even listed in her SHIELD file. He listened, without judgement, as Thor talked through his complicated relationship with his brother.  He talked Clint through his guilt, how to put aside what he had done under Loki’s spell while finding ways to atone, to assuage his remorse. Let Bruce tentatively tell him about Betty.

He came down after one session, slipping his arms around Tony’s waist, kissing his neck.

“So, I was watching Natasha,” he said, winking, knowing that Tony knew he would never cheat, but teasing anyway. “She’s so small—do you think you could pop a parachute on the back of her suit?”

Tony swatted his ass fondly. “You like them funsize, huh, Cap?” he joked, thinking about how to fold a parachute down small enough that it wouldn’t inhibit her movement. 

Steve just smiled at him. “You’re funsize, Tony,” he murmured, drawing him in, “and you taste good to me.”

Tony leaned up to kiss him, swiping his current screen to the side and off the projection table.

“Wait—are those the stretchy polymers you were talking about the other day?” Steve asked.  He’d picked up a lot hanging around Tony, and using Jarvis and Google like a fiend. 

“Yep,” Tony replied, distracted.

Steve grabbed it from the side bar and brought it back. “Could you make that into pants?”

Tony leered at him, giving him a very obvious once-over.  “It’d certainly show off your assets,” he threw back, winking.  “But I don’t know if America’s ready for that much of a show, Spangles.”

Steve shook his head, laughing, that light, golden laugh, that made Tony’s heart feel drunk, light. “No, for Bruce,” Steve said, sketching out some dimensions on the screen.  “For when the Other Guy comes out to play.”

“They were actually something I was going to send to Cho, to help her with fabricating tissue,” Tony said, frowning. “But you’re right.  That’s a good application. Rogers,” he said, turning, “you make me feel like maybe I’m not that much more genius than the rest of the world.”

“Tony, you’re so brilliant you take my breath away,” Steve said, open and true, so genuine and sincere it was painful for Tony to look at.  How could he just say it like that, make himself so vulnerable? Tony couldn’t say anything for a moment, swallowing hard. 

He didn’t even argue when Steve asked him to add one of the new parachutes to Tony’s own undersuit.

\--

Tony walked in on Steve, dressing in uniform, leather gloves lying on the dresser.  He wore enough of his own armor to recognize what this was.  He walked to his side, a squire in a modern universe, tightening the brown leather straps, smoothing them down. 

Steve looked at him in the mirror, intent, unsmiling. 

Tony kissed his shoulder.  “What’s with the battle garb, Mixalot?”

Steve grimaced.  “Fury.”

“Oh?”

“I think he’s overstepping, moving beyond SHIELD into aggression. I have to call him out.”

“Ah.”

Steve blew out a breath he seemed to have been holding.  “I may end up getting demoted, today.  Or fired. Think you can find a place for me in your security division?” He smiled, finally, wryly.  “That’s sort of the extent of my skillset.”

Tony picked up Steve’s belt, wrapping it around his waist and fastening it securely. 

“No,” he said, moving closer, smiling up at him.  “Graphic design, maybe.  I think that’s more your speed.”

Steve sighed, heavily, squaring his shoulders, lifting his chin. 

“It doesn’t have to be you,” Tony said, knowing its lie as he said it.

Steve dipped his head down, resting his forehead gently against Tony’s, saying nothing. 

Tony ached for him—this should not also fall on him, too.  He carried enough burdens.  “Do you want me to go with you?”

Steve kissed him lightly.  “No.  You’ll be here when I get back?”

“Of course.”

Steve kissed his palm, grateful.

 

Tony didn’t hack Fury’s office—not really.  He already had the hack there from before—he just opened the channel. He didn’t need, at this point, to hear the sound.  He just watched Steve’s shoulders, the tension rising.  Watched him draw himself up.  Steve had considered the outcomes, that was clear. Knew he might lose his job.

But that’s what made Steve who he was. He didn’t want to confront Fury. He didn’t really enjoy fighting, when it came down to it.  Tony shook his head, knowing Steve couldn’t see it.  Steve just couldn’t look the other way. He couldn’t turn away when he saw injustice.  Couldn’t. 

Tony turned off his other screens. Fury rose from his desk, imposing, the vengeful dour face of puissance and intimidation.  He walked around the desk, clearly trying to get Steve to back down, the leather coat swirling around his boots.

“Don’t take any shit, Steve,” Tony muttered to the empty room. 

Steve didn’t move an inch.  His posture didn’t change. Immovable. 

Tony watched the tense moment, when none of them spoke. 

Then Fury slumped a bit, moved to rest against the edge of his desk.  Tony felt a surge of pride, bursting out of his seams.  His man went toe to toe with the vulture and won.  He’d keep an eye on the programs, remotely, but Steve had won this round.  He was ridiculously hot. His principles, his will, his willingness to lay it all on the line.  And, Tony thought, watching Steve walk out of the room, the rest of him was pretty hot, too.

 

That night, lying in bed, Tony thought Steve wanted to say something. There was a hesitancy to him that he didn’t usually exhibit.  But when he asked, Steve just smiled and kissed him. “There’s nothing wrong,” he said. He could be infuriating that way.

“You sure? Is there something else you wanted?” Tony asked. They’d been together for a while. Maybe Steve wanted something different, something new.

“You’re all I want, Tony,” Steve said. 

“You know what I mean,” Tony said, preening a bit.

Steve paused.  “No. I. I just want to hold you, know that you’re safe. That you’re mine.” He hesitated again. “That I won’t lose you, too,” he added, quiet, so quiet. Tony wasn’t even sure he was meant to hear.

\--

Sooner or later, Tony came to his senses.  Lying in bed, warm, he stared at the ceiling for an hour.  Realized Steve could do better. He’d been selfish. But Steve, Steve was acclimated now, to the present. And wasn’t that what being with Tony was all about, anyway? Getting used to the bright lights and the speed with which the modern world moved?  It was about time he moved on.  Better to do it now, before he truly broke Tony’s heart.  Before Tony was so far gone he couldn’t recover from it.

“Steve,” he said, clearing his throat, turning over in his arms. Good start.  Clever.  To the point. “I think we should take a break.”

Steve blinked at him, clear blue eyes. Tony couldn’t even look directly at him, instead watching the skyline.  “Did I do something?”

“No, I just think, it’s been good.  But it’s run its course, right? Let’s just, kit-kat it.  Right? Before one of us gets bored. I mean, trial run, right?” Tony was so glad his voice sounded normal. Bored even.  He snuck a glance at Steve.

Steve bit his lip. His face was always so open in the mornings, so clear, he turned to Tony broadcasting his affection clearer than words, smiling at him before kissing him good morning, every morning.  Now, his face was clouded, uncertain. The doubt seeped in, muting his eyes, shadowing the planes of his face.  “Have I been…” Steve stopped himself. It was as if Tony could see the younger Steve, his uncertainty, painted in translucent watercolor across his face now—the little guy that couldn’t get a date, who was always upstaged by his charismatic friend. What fools they had to have been, to pass up Steve Rogers. Steve’s lips pressed together, the little furrow forming between his eyes.  “Are you sure? I know I’m probably not what you normally date. But I’ve never been as happy as I am now. And you seemed happy, I thought.” His voice was a little frayed around the edges, soft, worn too thin and vulnerable.

He wasn’t wrong, Tony thought.  On any counts.  He was so much better than Tony’s normal partners.  And Tony was happy. 

“Sometimes you’ve got to move on, right? I’m sure.” He looked out the window again. _If you love him, set him free_ floated through his mind.  He squashed the thought.  Steve wasn’t his.

He heard Steve’s throat clicking dryly, felt Steve press a slow kiss into his hair.  “If it’s what you want, sweetheart,” he murmured.  And then he was gone.

He didn’t see Steve all day. 

Tony thought of all the things he’d miss, now.  Stupid things.  Little things, that he hadn’t realized he wanted.  The way Steve’s eyes always got soft when Tony stole one of Steve’s shirts and wrapped himself up in it.  The little notes he left, doodled, around Tony’s workshop.  He’d miss waking up with him, kissing him goodbye before Steve went on a godawful run around Manhattan.

He'd miss the way Steve would wink at him before stealing Clint’s yeast rolls right off his plate while he was hotheadedly arguing with Natasha.  He’d miss the way only Steve could manage to make a “Yes Ma’am” or a “No, Sir” sound like a reproach, a commendation, or a pick up line, depending on the smallest inflections. The way he could work every modern gadget he'd ever come across except the microwave. 

The way he gave and gave of himself.  The way he'd smile at Tony in that secret smile that made Tony glow, because he saw him, he knew him, and he seemed to like him anyway.

The way Steve always, always had his back. 

No, knowing Steve, he’d be just as quick to protect him, to listen to his advice, to back Tony’s play. Just as generous with giving credit to Tony when it was due. Just as unwilling to send Tony into a compromised situation, doing it only when there truly was no other way—and his tactical mind was better than anyone Tony had ever seen, Fury included. 

Apparently it was too late, Tony thought, his breath seizing in his lungs.  Apparently his heart was already broken. Thinking that tonight, he'd go to sleep, truly alone.  Tomorrow he'd wake up, and Steve wouldn't be there. There was no oxygen left in the room.  There was no point. He’d read somewhere that the pain receptors in the brain for emotional pain were the same as for physical pain. Now he knew it to be true. This was pain beyond imagining. He didn’t regret it exactly. Steve was worth it, every time.  But it hurt.  Worse than anything he could remember, and Tony’d been through a few rough patches. A deep part of him wanted to crawl his way into a bottle, drink it all away, but an even deeper need within him didn’t want to disappoint Steve still.  There’s the irony. 

Tony dragged himself out of the workshop that night. He hadn’t gotten anything done. His hair was wild but he didn’t care, he was heartsick.  Was he doing the right thing? Yes, of course, he was.  But the reactor was twice as heavy now, pressing down on him, weighing on him. Steve was brilliant and kind, generous and devoted, the stubborn ass. Steve had been the best of him, brought out the best in him.  He couldn’t breathe, now, thinking of how it would be, his bedroom cold and dark, without Steve and his goddamn paper books.  He couldn’t bring himself to open the door. 

Finally, he pushed the door open, stepping into the darkness.  He was surprised by the pool of light, falling on Steve’s smooth chest, haloing the heavy tome in his hand. 

“What are you doing here, Steve?” Tony asked when he recovered. He couldn’t tell how his voice sounded, grateful he could get words out at all, past the lump in his throat, the squeeze of it.

Steve put his bookmark between the pages, set it aside.  “Well.  When I feel like I need more information to solve a problem or make a decision, I go to the experts. People who know more than I do.”

Tony closed the door.  “Where is this going?” Sending Steve away had been painful the first time. How could he do it again?

“So I went to the experts.” Steve stood up and started walking toward Tony.  “Because I want to keep this. I will give up anything for you.  I am lucky to be here, with you.  If I had a time machine, I’d break it.  So if you really don’t want me, I can respect that. But if this is some sabotage or self-sacrifice, then I want you to know that I, wholeheartedly, want you, shellhead. I thought it through.  I love you, Tony Stark.”

He stopped right in front of Tony.  Open gaze, clear eyes. Tony loved the determination he wore, the hope. It squished his heart, wrung it out.

“You talked to Pepper, huh?” Tony asked. 

Steve nodded.  “And the colonel.” Steve glanced down.  “And Happy. And Natasha, actually.”

Tony shook his head a little.  “And you love me?” His lungs burned and ached, trying to contain the shards of his heart, raw and rough.

“I do.”

“Well. I guess maybe we took a break, huh? Decided it wasn’t for us?” his voice quavered, just a little, heart racing, imploding, trying to break free of his ribs.

“Definitely not for us.” Steve was smiling at him.  Tentatively maybe, but there. He brought his hand up to Tony’s face. 

“Okay. Yep. Do not recommend. Breaking up with Steve Rogers: bad idea.” He kissed Steve, relief flooding him, the same feeling as he had waking up in New York, a second life granted. Then his brain caught up to him. “But if you found a time machine and you broke it, so help me, we’re getting a divorce!”

It just slipped out.

“Divorce, huh?” Steve asked, gently, pulling Tony close.  “I guess we’d have to get married for that to happen.” It didn’t sound like a new thought to him.  “And maybe that’s one way to make sure you won’t run on me.” He didn’t wait for Tony to formulate a response, just kissed him, over and over, as if he could heal all the spaces in Tony that bled.

\--

They had just put down a horde of flying electric jellyfish. Tony’d taken a direct hit, and the suit was out of commission.  He’d loaded it up on a quinjet, patted it fondly.  When he turned away, Steve was looking at him, an undecipherable look in his eyes. 

“Come back with me?” he asked.

“On the bike?” Tony never had to hitch a ride.  He always took the suit.  But then Steve usually didn’t have the bike with him either, getting called in unexpectedly from a meeting in midtown. Something in Steve’s voice. “Sure, Cap.”

Steve swung his leg over the motorcycle, turning back to look at Tony, that same look just below the surface.  Tony got on behind him, wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist. A slight shudder went through Steve, and he put his hands over Tony’s. Interesting. 

When they got home, Steve parked the bike in his usual spot, held it steady as Tony dismounted.  Tony was watching closely.  He watched the way Steve’s shoulders moved. The way he seemed a little lighter, somehow, when he got off the bike. Even more interesting. 

Tony joined him in the shower, then, claiming he was sore and tired, wheedled Steve into a nap.  Lying down, Tony turned over. “C’mere, big guy.”

Steve looked at him, questioning.

“Just come here.  No—turn over, there you go.”

The minute Tony’s arms closed around Steve’s ribs, he felt all the tension deflate from him, that same shudder running through him. His hand came up to close over Tony’s. Tony kissed his back.  “Steve.  Why didn’t you say something?”

Steve snuggled back into him. Tony waited. 

“I.  I don’t like to ask for…” he trailed off. 

Tony’s heart ached for him.  “Steve. You know I’d do anything for you.”

Steve kissed their joined hands.  “I know.  I know, Tony.”

“Then why?”

Steve wriggled back again, as if he could somehow disappear inside of Tony, become part of him.  “It feels. Sometimes it feels like Captain America shouldn’t want this.  Shouldn’t be like this.” His voice was quiet, almost ashamed. 

Tony squeezed as hard as he could. Not like he could crack one of Steve’s ribs. “Steve,” he said fiercely, “you are more than just the shield.  And you deserve everything.  Anything.  You always take care of me.  Let me take care of you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Forever.” He hadn’t planned it but he meant it.  He meant it.  Forever. Tony flattened his palm over Steve’s chest, over his heart.  

Steve’s breath caught, Tony could feel it under his palm, a tremor running through his frame. After a moment, his chest rose and fell again, almost normal.  “I’ll hold you to that, Tony,” he said. 

This was loving Steve Rogers, and being loved by him, and Tony would do it every day, until they died, until the stars failed, until the universe ceased to exist in vanishing motes of dust and sunlight, until forever, and even then. 

==

 


End file.
